


Changing One

by plethodon_cinereus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Gen, Genderfluid Character, Legend Retelling, Nadleehi, Native American/First Nations Culture, Native American/First Nations Deities, Native American/First Nations History, Native American/First Nations Legends & Lore, Nature, Nature symbolism, Navajo, Nonbinary Character, Pagan Gods, Third Gender, fourth gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23734666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plethodon_cinereus/pseuds/plethodon_cinereus
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley hear of a powerful supernatural entity in North America and decide to go check it out. They meet Begochidíín, a nonbinary Navajo god.I fell in love with the book "Changing Ones" by Will Roscoe about the history of non-binary genders in Pre-Columbian cultures so this happened. I based Begochidíín off of Hastiin Klah's retelling of the story that was in the book and tried my best to stick to that so I apologize if there's any mistakes there.
Kudos: 7





	Changing One

“You want to go where?” Crowley asks, looking at his angel with eyebrows raised and snake eyes unblinking. Aziraphale smiles and folds his hands together.  
“Westward. We haven’t yet been to that continent, after all. As I said, I’ve been hearing about some truly amazing developments going on over there. I would love to see them firsthand.”  
Crowley sighs, playing the game of pretending to be wholly convinced by Aziraphale as if he hadn’t been intending to follow him in the first place. It’s only been a few hundred years since The Beginning, yet he’s already completely enamored by the strange little white-haired angel. He would follow him anywhere in the universe just to feel the sensation of love pouring out of the ethereal being who somehow isn’t afraid of the demon who caused humanity’s fall from grace.   
“Alright then, angel. Let’s get going.”  
Aziraphale’s blue eyes gleam with excitement and he snaps his fingers pulling down from the sky. In a single blink, the two man-shaped beings find themselves in the middle of a desert, not unlike the one surrounding Eden. The air is warm and humid, with an unfamiliar breeze cutting through that smells like pollen and fresh leaves.   
“That must be them,” Aziraphale points in the direction the breeze is coming from. Crowley follows closely behind, occasionally feeling the silken fabric of Aziraphale’s white tunic flap against him when it flutters in the wind. As they walk the breeze grows stronger and blows Crowley’s red curls horizontally behind them. There must be a miracle in place to keep the sand from blasting up with the floral-scented wind.   
Moments later, they arrive at a riverbank. The water is glistening with tiny whitecaps above the clearest, bluest water Crowley has ever seen. This place looks like one of the prototypes God had shown the angels when planning the world, it appears to be a place unsullied by the fall of man that turned Eden to desert. Of course, it is a desert, but as it should be. A natural desert, not man-made. This is where Crowley had always imagined seeing the humans, free to make their own choices and explore the world however they please.   
Further down the riverbank is the source of the breeze. An ethereal being sits among a slowly expanding patch of white flowers. It’s impossible to tell the being’s true appearance as it constantly flickers and changes among a myriad of outfits and physical states. Changing between male and female, shifting hair colors and skin colors. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley has ever seen anyone like them.   
The being addresses them first, looking up with an impish grin. “You’re new,” they say in a rhythmic accent, voice rough as if it hasn’t been used very much. Crowley realizes this must be a very young being, newly created.   
“Ah, yes. I am Aziraphale, angel of the Lord, guardian of the Eastern gate. Well, when it existed that is. This is Crawly—”  
“—CrOwley,” he interrupts. Aziraphale is still getting used to the name change. “And ’m an angel too. Of sorts. Made from the same original stock and all that. But you, you’re no angel. Who —or what— are you?”  
“My name is Begochidíín, or so I’m told.” The being rises, dusting sand off their intricately patterned red skirt-like garment. “At least that’s what the humans have been calling me. Begochiddy, some are saying.”   
“Be…Bego…oh bugger all. B,” Crowley mumbles before deciding to not even bother trying to pronounce that name out loud.   
“Close enough,” they smirk with a mischievous gleam in their eyes.  
“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Begochidíín,” Aziraphale extends his hand for a handshake but they greet him with a hug instead. Crowley feels a momentary flash of jealousy at the being for receiving physical contact with the angel. He makes a mental note to use a hug as a greeting sometime in the future.  
B hugs Crowley as well and he was not remotely prepared for the sensation. The sweet scent of those white flowers envelops, him but is pleasant instead of overpowering. B’s skin is soft, warm like the sun; and their breath is cool like a cloud over the salty ocean. Though they are clearly a newly-formed being, their sheer power is obvious. It takes Crowley’s breath away.   
“Come look at this,” they gesture to the patch over flowers. B seems to have settled upon an appearance, likely to make the others more comfortable. Their eyes are now blue like Aziraphale’s, though darker and with more depth. Their hair is a golden blonde layered like the color of a sunrise, wavy and longer than Crowley’s. At the moment, B’s body is woman-shaped but they’ve retained the skirt and exposed chest without making a move to cover their breasts like the human women Crowley and Aziraphale have met do. Strange being indeed. Crowley’s fondness for B grows.   
The three supernatural beings sit among the patch of flowers that B has expanded to surround all of them and extend down the bank of the river. They raise their hand in an intricate gesture that sweeps horizontally, seeming to pull the miracle from across the earth instead of heaven or hell like Aziraphale and Crowley. The breeze lifts and spreads to dilute across the land. Soon after, white insects with soft wings begin to settle on top of the flowers.   
“Moths?” Crowley asks.   
B nods, “The pollen from the plants sticks to their wings, like it does other insects, to create seeds. This way, when I’m not around to give the seeds to the humans, they can still be found.”   
“But I thought God already created all that? The insects, the plants, the seeds,” Aziraphale’s tone is friendly and his polite smile hasn’t wavered, but Crowley can sense the underlying accusation. That can’t be good. “How are you claiming to have made these?”  
B stands and allows their power to radiate as they shift appearance once again. Now, their hair is an unnatural fire-like shade and their skin glows. They’ve shifted to a man-shaped body with a much more feminine vestment accompanied by an array glittering jewelry. They grin, and it’s an expression of power with a tendency to create trouble.   
Crowley slinks back like the snake he is, not very eager to get in between the two immensely powerful beings. Since his Fall, he’s not quite sure his powers are near the same level as Aziraphale’s and is more than a little worried at the threat of discorporation by an unfamiliar being that’s able to pull power from the sun. “Angel…” he warns.   
Before Aziraphale can reply, B interjects. “Maybe that’s the way things work wherever you came from, but here, I’ve made that and more. I’ve created mountains, rivers, and all types of plants. I’ve sprung animals and birds with a wave of my hand. And I’ve even created humans of all sorts, taught them how to live with each other without conflict. Now I’ll have you know, Aziraphale guardian of the Eastern gate,” B pulls Aziraphale up with astounding force, “That this is not the first world I’ve created.”  
“You…you’re a god?” Crowley has finally put two and two together. He’s heard of the other gods of course, but has yet to meet one. If B is anything to go by, they’re much more powerful in this part of the world.   
Aziraphale’s tone has shifted entirely to respectful fear, the same way he spoke to God when being questioned about where his flaming sword has gone. “Oh, terribly sorry, I meant no disrespect. I fear I may have been ill-informed regarding this area of the world; I was unaware of gods such as yourself. My dearest apologies, Begochiddy.” He’s practically bowing at this point, squinting into the light radiating from B.   
They seem to be satisfied with Aziraphale’s change in tone and shift appearance yet again before laying back down in the flowers. B has returned to the female-shaped body and less ornate vestment. The plants grow at a remarkable rate to caress their dark skin with only the brightest green leaves. White flowers bloom from their hair.   
“You two having problems with those humans in your part of the world?” they ask amiably. “Mine here are being ridiculous. Men and women fighting against each other, older ones against younger ones, it’s so pointless. I didn’t think they’d be like this; I’ve spend the centuries creating variation to make it more interesting. Not to make conflict.”  
“Ngk, don’t I know it,” Crowley matches their casual demeanor while Aziraphale shakily sits back down with that silly perfect posture of his. “You should have seen the way they behaved on that ark during the flood. I swear if I had to intervene with one more pointless argument I was going to throw those adults overboard. The kids, nah, the kids were better.”  
“I made the right call staying out of the way, then. That flood never reached this area.”  
Aziraphale’s mouth drops open in an adorable little expression of shock. Crowley raises a hand towards him to signal for the stuffy angel to not ask any more questions now that the immensely powerful being has finally stopped being mad at them.   
“Is that why you have such different plants here?” Crowley asks instead.  
“Exactly!” B’s eyes light up; they’re clearly delighted at the opportunity to talk about plants. “I’ve been able to speed up the mutation rates as well, it took some trail and error but we got there. You should see some of them, further south I’ve got plants that grow on top of plants! Vines that turn into trees! Look at these,” they lean forward and pull a rock out of the water. On it are tiny crawling insects with long tails and what appear to be feathers undulating on the sides of their bodies.   
“Ephemera,” B says, “They breathe through these feathers and live underwater for years before sprouting wings and flying off,” they wiggle their eyebrows, “These little guys don’t even have a mouth as adults! All they do is fly and mate. That’s the life, I’m telling you.”  
“They don’t eat?” Aziraphale asks as he leans forward to look more closely at the insects.   
B’s impish grin returns, “Nope. Flying and fucking, soaring and sex. Life’s greatest pleasures.”  
“Huh,” is the angel’s only reply. And Crowley could swear he sees a gleam in his eye as he ponders something even more pleasurable than food.   
“Well, I should probably be going. Things to do, people to meet, and all that. I’ll see you around?” B sits up and makes intense eye contact with Crowley, bright blue against snake yellow.   
“Uh, sure, if you want. Just, um, get it touch? I dunno how that works.”  
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” they wave their hand dismissively. “Oh! Hang on, check this out.” B stands and pulls something out of the top of a flower. They place the seed-laden fruit in Crowley’s hand, it’s completely different from any he’s seen before.  
“This should grow almost anywhere. It blooms in red.”  
“Ngk…uh…thanks. I’ll just, uh, plant this,” Crowley stutters out while trying to think of where he’s going to grow a plant when he doesn’t even have a permanent living space.   
“You do that. Catch you later,” B clicks their tongue points both their hands with index fingers extended and thumbs up. In a few thousand years the gesture would be popularly known as ‘finger guns’. Aziraphale waves and Crowley just sort of stares. B turns their back to them and disappears with a powerful flash of sunlight, leaving behind a cloud of chlorophyll and mist.   
“Huh,” is all Crowley says.   
“Interesting fellow,” Aziraphale is similarly dumbfounded. “Not what I expected to find over here. But not entirely unpleasant.”  
“I like them,” Crowley grins. The gender variation, the plants, and tendency to start trouble are just the beginning of their shared interests. “Anywhoo. Home, angel?”  
Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and he nearly discorporates at the excitement of touching his angel. With a flick of Aziraphale’s hand they’re back where they started the morning, on the outskirts of a familiar little town in the Eastern part of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I may add on to this later to incorporate other parts of the legend surrounding Begochidíín. Also, if anyone is interested in LGBT history, Will Roscoe's work is the best!


End file.
